


Scatter the Remaining

by Opaul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Teen Wolf, canon ships, drabble fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opaul/pseuds/Opaul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numerous drabble fics based off some lofty quote that strikes my fancy.  “I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.”

Lydia watched him board the plane and the big white metal contraption take flight in the sky. She watched the gentle shade of blue swallow up the only boy who’d ever loved her. She stood by the great glass windows covered in the smudgy fingerprints and her mouth tightened (she did not frown nor cry, she had already done that enough and was certainly not going to be caught doing so in an airport). There was some sort of karmic unfairness of it all. 

Sure it was not his choice to leave, his father had made him. But Lydia was the one left with this empty hole in her life. Their relationship was just beginning to heal from the festering injuries that had taken root in it. Off to London he went just as the pus was clearing out. She would be fine, she told herself. The stabbing pain made it difficult to believe that she could ever not love him. But she could. Truth was she would be fine. This heartbreak would pass. Her homicidal lizard werewolf boyfriend with lovely blue eyes and a playful beating heart would be, but a fleeting recollection. She'd forget how he smelled, the way his hair felt flowing through her fingers, his facial features would blur about the edges. She’d forget his favorite songs or about his horrid dislike for peanut butter. Each time her brained recalled something it would permanently alter it. Permanently distorting the memories over and over until Jackson was a stranger to her. A stranger who had whispered ‘I love you’ to her in the dark. 

Her eyes flicker up the little patch of sunlit sky he had disappeared into. He took some part of her with him, whether he was aware of it or no, and Lydia knew it would never be returned to her. 

She turns away from the window and descends into the crowds of travelers and goodbye-wishers. Whatever it was, it was his to keep. It no longer belonged to her anyway. With her chin held high she stepped onto the escalator and promised herself not to yearn for him.

She misses him anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.”

He dreamed of her often. He dreamed of her when he used to dream at least. Now all he has is the waking muddled trance. A limbo, a bardo, between the two like the gap in the trapeze. Where the performer is hanging in mid air in the space between flying and falling, a trick of projectile motion, where life and death are hung in balanced scales. But modern day circus performers use a net and Stiles is far from sure he if he has one. Dreams do not come with a panic button, any more than nightmares an off switch. Count your fingers, one, two, three, but four is missing. Defiant, disregarded little four, the weakest finger on that hand, on any hand. He never thought he would miss it this much. In another life he might wear a band around it. If it were the correct hand. He honestly can’t tell right from left anymore. Least the dreams have up and down. Gravity still seems to work properly most of the time.  
One of the few laws of physics that bothers too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am haunted by humans.

She walked about the perimeters. The downtown, the farmers market, the mall, the supermarket, the woods--at first just behind the school--then deeper and deeper into them. Rising from the dead or the near dead caused her to an ungodly amount of people watching, but not much interacting. Kate had always felt home among the crowds. The masses where great for hiding in plain sight. But now they made her skin prickle with the closeness. Her main reason for deserting Beacon Hills for the time being. It was too small to hide her foot prints and smelled too deeply of home. A thought that only made her rage. And she was too weak to fight. To rip it to pieces. Now she roamed the godforsaken places where no other soul would dare to dwell. 

It had taken months wrestle control from the blue beast she now shared her skin with. Yet, now she loved it. She could see why werewolves chose this life rather than to die. Vicky was seriously missing out. But alas no matter how far she roamed, in this life just like the last, she came trotting back home like a tom cat. 

Kate crosses her legs leans forward toward the tombstone. She had come here once long ago to stare at her own, but this grave was freshly dug. "You may not believe me, but I loved you. I swear I did." 

Guilt was something new to Kate Argent, a stone she had never carried on her back. Her father had never allowed for such things so she never learned to bare such weight. She had loved Allison, just as she loved Gerard and even Chris. Both far too fucking serious for their own good.

_I could have saved you. Maybe. Could've made you different. I could've taught you not to love. I could've made you into a monster. In real life the dragon wins. Or at least have got a better shot. It has claws and a breath if fire, a hardened underbelly. You would have made an excellent dragon Allison. You look way better in green than Jackson._

Kate reaches forward and scratches some dirt off the marble surface right next to the e in Argent. She can almost hear her niece laugh. A light melodic sound, the laughter only the youthful and unmarked carry with them.

_They say I haunted you, a ghoul in the night, but now I am the monster and you haunt me. Happy?_


	4. "Lust was always a child's game."

_Will you play, will you play, will you play?_ The words resound over and over again. It's just a game of spin the bottle, harmless. It's been over a year since Paige died and Peter dragged him out to this party. Better than sitting at home with Mama Hale's probing questions. Having a mother who doubles as a human lie detector has it's faults.  
Peter smiles at the upper class men girls who all bat their eyelashes back. He spins expertly and the bottle lands quickly on some red haired junior who rolls her eyes good naturedly. They skip off to the closet for seven minutes alone together. Seven minutes in a cramped darkness. Seven minutes in heaven. 

Derek stares at the empty spot his uncle once occupied briefly before someone slaps his shoulder and reminds him that it's his turn. He reaches toward the empty beer bottle and spins. It's a thoughtless motion and when it lands on a pretty blonde girl across the room with a coy smile he isn't sure what to feel. But when she kisses him ferociously in the dark he figures it's a better feeling than what he has been lately. 

She treats their interactions that night all like a game. Her name is Kate and her iron grip and dancing tongue leave him reeling. So he supposed he'll play.


	5. More precious than a crown

For every king a crown and for every king an heir was it? Scott remembered the verse as he lay flat on his back mud soaking into his clothing, half alive, half breathing, not quite bleeding to death. He could live through this, he could, he could. He was only 40 and he had survived much worse. His phone rings in his pocket. The ring tone of his beta, a boy with eyes that still twinkle with the possibilities of the life ahead, wondering where he has gotten off too. 

Not knowing his alpha lies prone next to a lake water lapping at his skin. It tastes salty, for an instance he's confused. This is fresh water. But it dawns on him slowly that's it's the taste of his own tears in his mouth. Blood pours out from the wound in his side. A neatly flecked arrow with a wolfsbane tip. A new band of hunters with a last name he has never heard of who still make their weapons by hand and have not learned yet that not all monsters do monstrous things. Allison would show them the way if she had lived. 

He has lived, both in glory and in shame, as all kings do. Chief of a tribe, leader of the pact, 20 years strong, dying in the mud, struck down by a wild eyed teenager, like Talia before him. The heir to her throne. But she did not know who would carry on beyond her. Perhaps she had invisioned on of her children doing so. But the grave they followed her. In her seat a man she did not know. 

At least Scott would know. 

The beta rolls him over onto his back,"Dont worry help is on its way."  
Scott playfully shushes the kid. "I think it's a bit late for that, but hey don't worry about it you'll do great."

He dies sounded by moonlight, blood, and murky water, with an arrow in his side, the very things that made him.

**Author's Note:**

> I will write these until I no longer feel like writing them. Feel Free to post suggestions in my tumblr ask box.


End file.
